


The Woman from the Painted Lantern

by Laetitia_Laetitii



Series: Aileen Westbrook [12]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Player-Owned Ports, World Guardian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laetitia_Laetitii/pseuds/Laetitia_Laetitii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dark and stormy night, a group of friends gathers at Surula's bar to drink and talk.<br/>The story in the story was inspired by “The Screen-Maiden” from Lafcadio Hearn’s Kwaidan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman from the Painted Lantern

_”But the High Judge of Dice treated his wife kindly all the days of their marriage, and she never went back into the painted lantern.”_

    Sojobo’s story was finished, and for a moment we all held our breaths. In the silence I could hear the wind in the rigging of the moored ships and the incessant beat of the rain on the bar’s slate roof. Finally, Surula spoke:

    “And they lived together happily ever after?”

    “They lived together happily until his death,” Sojobo replied. “He was a mortal. She was not.” Surula looked at the two of them, the old sky orphan and the mask, but said nothing. Then she returned to measuring out spices for the mulled wine she was making.

    Outside, the midwinter storm beat the Eastern Harbour without mercy. The black clouds had gathered for days, and that afternoon the heavens had finally opened. Making the sprint from office to bar I had turned to look seawards to see the ends of the piers disappear into darkness, the waves washing over them. On a night like this every laid-off sailor in the port lay awake in his hammock, counted the seconds between lightning and thunder, and thanked his stars he was not out at sea.

    Surula had closed already, but she had allowed a few of us regulars to linger. It was perfect weather for staying indoors, for enjoying warming drinks and storytelling while the wind rattled the hurricane shutters. The short walk had drenched me completely, and I had parked myself in front of the fireplace to dry out and listen to the others talk.

    As the scent of ginger and cloves spread around, someone appeared at the top of the stairs, and began to descend them without making a sound. She glowed slightly in the dimly lit room.

    “What’s that going to be?” Kami asked, as she craned her neck to see over the bar. She could eat, but she said she preferred smelling things.

    “Spiced wine,” Surula answered, peeling a spiral off an orange. She threw it in the simmering cauldron, and then picked a dusty, brown bottle from the top shelf. She inspected the faded label, opened the cork, and upended it. It was something caramel-coloured and clear, and I thought I could smell the fumes from the other side of the room.

    “That should put hair one everyone’s chests,” she said cheerfully.

    “How?” Kami asked, her brow furrowing.

    “Figure of speech, love,” Surula said. “Means it’s nice and strong. How are things upstairs?”

    “It’s horrible,” Kami said gravely. “The three of them are playing poker. Zu Zu is pretending she has never done it before, and they think they’re teaching her. When Tomlin got suspicious about her being so handy with the shuffling, she started making funny little grammar mistakes with her Common until he calmed down.”

    “That’s her ’little helpless me’ shuffle.” Surula said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “She’s going to bankrupt both of them. Is Hubbub being taken in by it?”

    “Hook, line and sinker,” Kami said. “But it won’t be so funny when they start betting heavy. Anyway,” she continued, “I’m going out to watch the storm.”

    “You have a good time at that, dear,” Surula answered a second late, and I could tell that she had swallowed a warning. It was sometimes hard to remember that Kami was not a little girl, but we were all making progress. There was a gust of cold, wet wind as the door opened, and it slammed shut as she disappeared into the rain, butterflies trailing in her wake.

    Leaving my boots in front of the fire, I pit-patted over to the bar in socks and sat down on a stool next to Shanao.

    “So, Sojobo,” I started, “Do you know what became of the woman from the lantern?”

    “But of course I do!” the mask said, turning to me. “We met her, didn’t we? It was her who told us the story.” Underneath, Shanao muttered something inaudible.

    “She was, wasn’t she?” The mask said wistfully. There was a further mumble and a snicker. “What do you mean, my type, my lot,” Sojobo exclaimed, “Just because I am an animated artefact and she was sort of one doesn’t mean anything.” He sounded irritated, but the sky-orphan’s shoulders were shaking with muted laughter.

    “It could,” said Surula innocently. “Sometimes it’s nice to be with your own kind.”

    “Hmph,” The Ten Gu snorted. “And at any rate, I was granted sentience by my wise and learned creators for a purpose, whereas she was just a painting who came alive because someone loved her. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he concluded.

    “There’s worse things someone can be,” Surula said.

    “How did you meet her, then,” I asked, trying to return to the story. But as Sojobo began to speak, we were interrupted once more. Someone was coming down the stairs again, and the click of six-inch wedge-heel clogs on wood was unmistakeable.

    “Whatever it is, it smells _divine,_ darling,” Zu Zu said. “Hello, Sojobo. Hello Shanao. Hello, Aileen.” She crossed over to us and leaned against the bar.

    “It does, and it’s about ready too,” Surula said, adding a last sprinkle of spices into the cauldron. “Kami tells me you are learning poker.”

    “I am,” Zu Zu said demurely, “A little at a time.”

    “Speaking of which,” Surula continued, “you seem to have an ace of spades stuck under your hat, dear.”

    “I do?” Zu Zu exhaled, her eyes widening. “How did that end up there?” She pulled the offending card from the brim of her occultist’s hat, looked at it as if she had never seen it before and vanished it inside her dress. “I’m afraid I’m quite hopeless with those things,” she said, studying the paint on her nails.

    “Happens to the best of us, love,” Surula said. “Now, where do I have the good ones…?” She had bent down to look for something in a cupboard under the bar and was rummaging around when something gave her start.

    “Oi! Get out of there, the pair of you!” She stood up, holding a box containing a set of terracotta cups, which she seemed to be addressing. “I brought these from Hyu-Ji when I came over, and you’re not going to transform them. Or hide them. Or live in them, for the matter of fact.”

            As she spoke, from the cups rose two small orbs of sparkling, purplish light. They glided in circles in front of her, and for shapeless fragments of energy they somehow managed to look guilty.

            “Off with you,” Surula muttered, and under her glaring eyes the wisps floated off and disappeared into an ash-pail. “They tagged along with the girl when she returned from Light Under Sea,” she explained. “She said they were curious about the rest of the world. While that’s something that I can get behind, I still can’t have them staying in my mother’s tea set.” She was taking out the cups one by one, and checking their decorations carefully. “They like abandoned objects, you see. When they find something they think no-one’s using they settle in, and sometimes that has side effects. They can alter the objects, and like to move them around. One time they set up house in my parasol and I couldn’t find it for weeks.” Satisfied with the state of the cups, she began to ladle out the mulled wine.

            “I think I’ll take some upstairs,” Zu Zu said. “I’m afraid I am sorely missed there.”

            “You will be sorely missed here as well,” said Sojobo.

            “Choices, darling, always choices,” she replied affectionately. She took the tray Surula had laid for her, and as an afterthought picked the tiny cocktail umbrella from Shanao’s empty glass and stuck it in her chignon. “Wish me luck, ladies, gentlemen,” she said. “It will be needed. Wouldn’t it be horrible if I was to rack up debts I can’t pay?” And with that, she disappeared back up the stairs, balancing her tray on three perfectly manicured fingers.

    “Sounds like everyone up there is going to win tonight,” Surula said, handing me a terracotta cup. “Here’s to that.”

            “Here’s to that,” I replied. The mulled wine was sweet and strong, and it drove away the last traces of cold from my body. I sat with my eyes closed for a while, breathing in the heady fragrance and letting the warmth spread inside my bones. Then something tugged at my memory.

            “You were telling us about the lady from the lantern, Sojobo,” I said.

     “Yes, we met her, as I mentioned,” the mask answered, pausing to allow Shanao to sip his drink. “It was around thirty years ago, on the Island of Regret. After the death of her husband she couldn’t tolerate being around humans anymore. She couldn’t stand to see them grow old, grow sick and die, when she herself was always as young as the day she had stepped out of the lantern. She had left Crescent Island to travel to the place that was said to grant oblivion, only to find out that due to her magical nature, the island’s power didn’t affect her. But she had stayed, she said, because it was lonely and peaceful.” Under the mask, Shanao said something. “I was just getting to that,” Sojobo said. “She lived there alone, but she had brought the lantern with her, the old paper lantern she had been painted on. She said she could return into it should she ever choose to, but that it would be a one-way journey. Sometimes, she told us, she thought of burning the lantern, and denying herself that option. Sometimes she thought of taking it to the beach, re-entering it, and letting the waves wash off the ink.”

    “Do you know if she chose either?” I asked.

    “She was there when we left,” the mask said. “And we haven’t been there since.”

    We were all quiet for a while. The logs in the fireplace had burned down to embers, leaving us with nothing but the dwindling candles for light. Thunder would still strike from time to time, but at longer intervals, and further and further away. Finally, Shanao yawned and muttered something.

    “I’m afraid it’s time to put the old bird to bed,” Sojobo said. “Can’t have him flapping around all night at his age.” The ancient sky orphan mumbled in protest, but he rose from his chair and picked up his walking staff. “Good night, Surula, and thank you for the wine, “Sojobo said. “Good night, Aileen.”

    “Good night Sojobo. Good night, Shanao,” I replied, and as we watched, the two of them walked off into the stormy night. They were never alone.

    “I gather I’ll retire as well,” Surula said. “Whatever those three are doing upstairs, they know it’s up to them to clean the place afterwards.” She made a final round about the room to check the shutters, and then headed for her own quarters in the back.

    “Good night, Aileen,” she said from the threshold. “Lock the door when you leave.”

    When she was gone, I extinguished all the candles but one, and poured the rest of the mulled wine in a decanter. I took that and my cup, and carried them over to a chair by the still-warm fireplace. I sat there until I had no more wine left, and I was still sitting there when the candle went out.

**Author's Note:**

> The Player-owned Ports get way too little attention for how good they are. (Yes, I know, I never write anything that doesn't involve the Mahjarrat myself) My favourite personalities there include Kami, BROTP Shojobo and Shanao, Zu Zu, Surula and Ling. Besides the dialogue, I love the images the short descriptions of the islands and the voyages evoke -they show nothing and tell just enough to provoke the imagination. Although the port itself looks absolutely gorgeous, the minigame is above everything a tour de force of good writing. And good writing is what I mostly want from my game content.


End file.
